


Hitchhiker poetry

by torch



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, The X-Files
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pastiche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-24
Updated: 1999-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torch/pseuds/torch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poetry pastiches. It was a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hitchhiker poetry

one (with apologies to Yeats):

Running and jumping in the generator's depths  
the master cannot hear the padawan;  
Siths fall apart; the master cannot live;  
now Obi-Wan alone must face the world,  
the blond-haired child must train, all by himself  
(the Chancellor would meddle if he can);  
the Council lacks conviction, while the Sith  
Are running the Republic stealthily.

Surely some revolution is at hand;  
Surely the New Republic is at hand.  
The New Republic! Hardly are those words out  
When a holopicture out of R2-D2  
Troubles Luke's sight: somewhere in the sands of Tatooine  
A man with Jedi garments and a saber of light,  
A whammy strong and Forceful as the suns,  
Is making his last plans, while all about him  
The Jawas and the Tusken raiders roam.  
The Empire's fall at last!; for now he knows  
That decades of the Emperor's dark rule  
Will end in downfall through Darth Vader's children,  
And what cute kid, his hour come round at last  
Slouches towards Dagobah to be trained?

* * *

two (with apologies to Byron):

So we'll go no more a roving  
so late into the night,  
though the morphs be still as loving  
and Fox's flashlight still as bright.

For the myth wears out its sheath  
and the plot outwears its arc  
and our Fox must pause to breathe  
and CC himself's in the dark.

Though the show was made for loving  
and the credits come too soon  
yet we'll go no more a roving  
by the light of the moon.

* * *

three (with apologies to Shakespeare):

Let me not to the training of true Siths  
Admit impediments; Dark is not Dark  
Which falters where it opposition finds,  
Or spars with the Light Jedi for a lark.  
O no, it is an evil slick and smart  
That looks on Qui-Gon and is never shaken;  
It is the threat to every padawan's heart  
Whose love is scorned although his ass be taken.  
Dark's not Light's tool, the Light ones who are weak  
By its lightsaber's double blades are slain;  
It wears a public face that glibly speaks  
To Senators of terror and of pain.  
If this be error and Darth Maul weak-willed,  
I never turned, and no Sith ever killed.


End file.
